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I have seen many pieces of life, without beginning, without end, without understanding." With a sudden change of position he turned his eyes full upon me and regarded me thoughtfully. "Look you," he said; "you are a painter-man.
"Er Cynthy," he said presently, "hain't fond of that Painter-man, be you?" "Why, yes," said Cynthia, "aren't you?" "He's fond of you," said Jethro, "sh-shouldn't be surprised if he was in love with you." Cynthia looked up at him, the corners of her mouth twitching, and then she laughed. The Rev. Mr. Satterlee, writing his Sunday sermon in his study, heard her and laid down his pen to listen.
"If you are pleased, it's all I care about, Uncle Jethro," she answered, and then, her face suddenly flushing, "You must promise me on your honor that nobody in Coniston shall know about it, 'Mr. Painter-man'." After this she always called him "Mr. Painter-man," when she was pleased with him. So the cardinal cloth was come to its usefulness at last.
"Uncle Jethro," said Cynthia, "sometimes I forget that you're a great, wise man, and I think that you are just a silly old goose." Jethro wiped his face with his blue cotton handkerchief. "Then you hain't a-goin' to marry the Painter-man?" he said. "I'm not going to marry anybody," cried Cynthia, contritely; "I'm going to live with you and take care of you all my life."
What chance in such a field for a poor little painter-man?" "Oh you're good enough," Strether threw out. "Certainly I'm good enough. We're good enough, I consider, nous autres, for anything. But she's TOO good. There's the difference. They wouldn't look at me."
We were right in the middle of this, and Aunty May was a little red-faced, and her hair was kind of wild, when we heard somebody laugh, and there was the painter-man down by the river, laughing as hard as he could laugh; and Aunty Edith trying to look severe at Aunty May and not able to, on account of her looking so comical.
Cynthia could see that Jethro was intensely amused, for his eyes had a way of snapping on such occasions when he was alone with her. She was puzzled and slightly offended, because, to tell the truth, Jethro had spoiled her. "Very well, then," she said, "I'll go with the Painter-man." Jethro came and stood over her, his expression the least bit wistful.
Don't you see, Kenny? I can look on and learn to understand it. I should like that. Come, painter-man! The tea's cold. And it's growing dark. We'd better light the lamp." With the tea-pot singing again on the fire and the lamp lighted, Kenny, but momentarily tractable, had another interval of rebellion. Joan, in New York, might better be his wife.
Now that I hear you speak, I see that you are different, and I beg your pardon, 'pon my word, I do. And what's more, the sketch is yours, unless you give me the right to keep it. I'm afraid I cannot make you understand my position, but the temptation to put you in the picture was too much for mortal painter-man!" Janet's face cleared slowly.
Cynthia's eyes were on the orange line of the sunset over Coniston, but she laughed a little, indulgently. "Cynthy?" "Yes." "Er that Painter-man hain't such a bad fellow w-why didn't you ask him in to supper?" "I'll give you three guesses," said Cynthia, but she did not wait for them. "It was because I wanted to be alone with you. Milly's gone out, hasn't she?" "G-gone a-courtin'," said Jethro.
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